


Pack nights are not for getting laid

by igotdamn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Possessive Derek, Stiles is Alpha Bait, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:24:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igotdamn/pseuds/igotdamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles goes out clubbing, Derek doesn't like that very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pack nights are not for getting laid

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended for this to be like 800 words long. Hah.
> 
> Also, I planned to write something with a seriously possessive Derek, but my brain took it in a bit of a different direction. Whoops.
> 
> Another thing: I wrote more but ended up posting only 'til here because Lord knows I'm not confident about my smut writing skills.
> 
> Written thanks to and for crossroadswrite, because alpha bait!stiles and possessive!derek are my weak spots, and you can't not tell me to write about it and then expect me not to.

_> Where are you?_

 

Stiles looks up from his phone when someone bumps into him and he nearly spills his drink.

 

“I’m sorry, man!” 

 

The man is handsome, there’s no other word to use. Dark hair, wide smile, eyes to drown in. Stiles can’t help it but smile back as he waves him off, “it’s _so_ okay. You can bump into me any time.”

 

So he may have had a little bit too much to drink. That’s okay, too.

 

Dark, tall, and handsome’s smile widens in a flash, his eyes raking over Stiles’s body appreciatively. “You gonna let me buy you a new drink?”

 

“I managed to save it,” Stiles says, holding up his glass so the man can see. “But I doubt I won’t still be thirsty after having finished this, and after a couple of twists and twirls on the dance floor.”

 

“I gladly volunteer,” he replies, taking a small bow, followed by a step closer.

 

Stiles doesn’t mind the proximity one bit.

 

“Cameron,” the man says as he clinks the neck of his beer bottle against Stiles’s glass. “That’s my name. But you can call me Cam.”

 

“Stiles,” he grins. “And you can call me Stiles.”

 

Cam chuckles. “That can _not_ be your real name. Are you holding out on me?”

 

“Trust me, I’m planning on going all out tonight.”

 

That gets Cameron to push Stiles’s glass closer to his mouth. “Drink that up, and let’s get shakin’.”

 

How can Stiles say no to that, really? A guy that goes along with his flirting and looks like a god? Yes please. 

 

Stiles can feel his phone buzz a couple of times in his pocket, but honestly, he couldn’t care less about that right now. Whatever supernatural hanky panky is going on tonight will have to wait. Because tonight, he is getting drunk and laid. Heck, he’s already halfway there, so he’s right on schedule.

 

He quickly swallows the rest of his cocktail and eagerly takes the hand that Cam’s extended to him.

 

What happens next is downright obscene.

 

There is bumping, grinding, and a general lack of personal space. Cam trails the back of Stiles neck with his nose, tells Stiles how good he smells and how he just wants to bite him. Stiles may be very much into it and tell him he can bite him wherever he wants later.

 

Thing is, Stiles is not an idiot. He _knows_ Cameron’s not at all human. If Stiles hadn’t realised it before, he sure as hell did when he felt the first scrape of sharp teeth. It doesn’t scare Stiles, no. Instead of run—like any normal person would—he moans because heck, he’s horny as hell and all he wants to do is get out and get funky.

 

So when Cameron’s arms wind around him, Stiles presses his back closer against the other man. Back to chest, no more space between them. Cam’s breath is hot on Stiles neck, his dick even hotter against his ass.

 

Just when Stiles is about to turn around and ask if Cam wants to get out, Cameron asks him, “Are you vibrating?”

 

“I—what?” 

 

It takes Stiles an embarrassing amount of time to realise it’s his phone again. With great reluctance, he dramatically pulls it out and swipes the screen.

 

“This better be worth it,” he hisses.

 

A growl greets him before actual words do. “Where the fuck are you.” 

 

It’s not even a question, it’s just rude.

 

“Um, having a life?” To be honest, it’s a miracle Stiles can hear Derek’s voice over the loud music. But then he squints his eyes and looks around and realises they’ve migrated to the back of the club where it’s way less loud, and way more appropriate to get down and dirty.

 

“You’re in a club. What are you doing in a club.”

 

“Would it kill you to use intonation, big guy?” Stiles looks up to Cameron raising an eyebrow. While a valiant effort, his eyebrow game is nowhere near as strong as Derek’s.

 

“It’s pack night.”

 

“Na-ah, it’s getting laid night. Which does not happen for Stiles during pack night.”

 

Cameron puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer again.

 

“It’s pack night,” Derek repeats. “You’re part of the pack.”

 

“Dude,” Stiles reasons. “I’m only a part of your pack when you need me. And that’s cool, no hard feelings. But I’m just gonna stay here and, well, get _hard_.”

 

Cameron flashes his eyes hungrily. Alpha red, which doesn’t surprise Stiles at all—Stiles knows the crowd he attracts. “Aren’t you hard already?” He follows it up by thrusting lightly against Stiles, and Stiles just whimpers.

 

He barely registers the angry growl and the click that indicates Derek’s ended the call.

 

Things happen both fast and slow. Cameron pushes him against a wall, trapping him between two muscular arms. The whole action is so reminiscent of his interactions with Derek, that Stiles almost feels wrong for a second.

 

_Almost_. The feeling disappears just as quickly as it came when lips meet his and an insistent tongue pushes in. It’s wet and hungry and just _not enough_.

 

They’re both panting when they come back for air, and that’s when shit goes down.

 

Cameron’s eyes glow red again, there’s a growl coming from behind him followed by clawed hands yanking him off Stiles. 

 

“Get behind me,” Derek grunts at him. He sounds both angry and annoyed and Stiles finds he has a hard time placing it.

 

“Kind of rather you get behind me,” Stiles says, lips quirking up in a wicked grin, and for the love of all that’s good and holy in this world, he does not understand why he does not keep his thoughts to himself sometimes.

 

“For fu—Stiles!” Derek grabs Stiles by his wrist right on time. Cameron lunges towards him, fangs out.

 

There’s a brief and surreal moment where Stiles wonders how in the world no one in this whole club notices what’s going on, and that there are two fucking werewolves having a territory (the territory being him) dispute right in front of them. But then he remembers that they are in Beacon Hills, and no one gives a damn in Beacon Hills.

 

It’s difficult for Stiles to get an actual grasp on the situation. He sees Cameron and Derek both flashing their alpha eyes at each other. They growl and threaten each other with their fangs. A few punches land, quite some scratches tear through their skin but heal soon enough.

 

At one point one of the bouncers steps in and separates them. They both step away from each other surprisingly easily. They head outside, Derek holding on to Stiles’s wrist again.

 

“Right, so.” Stiles claps his hands together, thinking about how differently he was hoping this night would go. “Guess things are all sorted out now.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, really. Thank fuck for the fresh air.

 

Derek pulls open the door to the passengers seat of his Camaro. “Get in.”

 

“What? No.” Stiles takes a couple steps closer to Cam.

 

“Stiles,” Derek sounds exasperated. “Get in the fucking car.”

 

“It’s getting laid night, Derek.” Stiles isn’t whining. _Stiles does not whine_.

 

Cameron smirks and Derek reaches for Stiles’s arm once more. “That’s an _alpha_ , Stiles,” he hisses.

 

“I don’t give a damn, Derek. As long as _he_ can give it to me good.” He flashes the same wicked grin as before, and he may or may not have thrusted his hips back and forth a few times in the air.

 

Hey, no one said Stiles acts mature when drunk. Or sober.

 

Derek’s obviously done with both Stiles and growling, when he practically _roars_ while forcefully pulling Stiles away from Cameron, and into his car. He clicks the seatbelt and slams the door shut before the human can crawl out again.

 

Stiles wants to feel undignified, but he suddenly feels tired. Also cheeky and in a way victorious. He can’t really explain that.

 

The car ride is silent until they’re almost at Derek’s loft. Then the alpha grits through his teeth, “You reek.”

 

Stiles simply pops some air from his cheeks, then smacks his lips a couple of times. “I’m thirsty.”

 

Derek tries looking him in the eye, but Stiles isn’t paying attention to anything anymore. He’s had way too much to drink, it’s late, and on top of that, he didn’t get laid. All in all, it’s been a sucky (not the way he wanted) and tiring night.

 

With a sigh, Derek shuts the engine off. He’s not subtle in the way he keeps touching Stiles all the way up until they’re inside the loft. The whole pack is there, it _is_ pack night after all, but none of them say anything once they sense their alpha’s mood.

 

Stiles is lead up the stairs, towards the bathroom. 

 

“For real, you reek. Take a shower.” Then Derek walks up to his room to get one of his shirts and boxers. _His_. So Stiles smells like _him_. Because that’s what Stiles is supposed to smell like, damn it.

 

Even though there’s nothing he’d rather do than just walk into the bathroom and see Stiles naked, indulge in the human’s idea that he’s supposed to get laid this night, Derek waits until he hears the water running before opening the door so he can leave his clothes near the sink. He’d say he wants to go back downstairs so he can be with his pack, but that’d be a lie. He wants to be with Stiles. Now more so than usual.

 

He’s not surprised though when Erica joins him on the floor near the bathroom door. Just like Derek, she leans her back against the wall. She makes sure their legs touch.

 

“What happened?” There’s worry in her voice and Derek feels a tiny bit of tension drain out of his shoulders. Pack is good.

 

“Stiles nearly went home with another alpha tonight.” He doesn’t know why he actually tells her. He wonders when he became so close to his betas, then he remembers he has Stiles to thank for that and his lips tighten again.

 

Erica simply looks at him, “Again?”

 

It’s not exactly a secret. They all know Stiles smells divine, especially to an alpha.

 

Derek hated the pull he felt towards the boy when he first met him. There was a mutual sense of loathing between them, a shared sentiment that evolved into a much more different sentiment. The one where Derek actually started to enjoy their interactions, started to enjoy being around Stiles, personality included. Instead of wanting to be around Stiles, because he smells like he needs to be his.

 

It was bad enough with only the pack knowing, but once Stiles inevitably found out…

 

Stiles is a little shit. That’s not a secret either. 

 

The first thing Stiles did after realising, was test his boundaries. His favourite time to experiment being when he was around Derek. He’d bend his neck just so, open his mouth this way or that, crack his fingers one by one, pulling all attention towards them. It took him less than a week to discover exactly how far he should bare his neck to drive an alpha crazy, but not too crazy. Less than three days to learn that his oral fixation was a gift of the Gods.

 

The second step in his discovery, was a weekend of clubbing in San Fransisco. When he came back he didn’t stop boasting about how hard he was _not_ a virgin anymore, and he didn’t stop wondering out loud exactly what the opposite was of a blushing virgin, because _‘man did I get_ laid _’_.

 

It drove Derek _mad_. Because by then Derek had already fallen deeply in love with him.

 

“Do you want us to leave?” She asks, tilting her head.

 

“No, stay.”

 

They share a smile, and then they hear the shower turn off. A few minutes later, Stiles comes out smelling clean, with a hint of Derek.

 

It settles Derek’s stomach only a little.

 

Erica goes back downstairs without another word as Derek reaches for Stiles hand and leads him towards his bedroom. Stiles is pliant and soft, easily letting himself be situated underneath the covers. He nuzzles in Derek’s pillow and Derek wants Stiles to stay in his bed forever.

 

He only leaves the room for a minute to get a bottle of water for Stiles, who gratefully accepts and practically downs the whole thing in a matter of seconds. After that he curls himself up in Derek’s bed, and just as Derek is about to move away, Stiles clasps their fingers together and pulls Derek closer.

 

They end up with their legs tangled, foreheads pressed together, arms bracing each other.

 

—

 

Stiles wakes up because the sun is an asshole and decided his face deserves all the light in the world.

 

He opens his eyes and realises that whoa, that’s a chest. A naked chest, with chest hair. Huh, he did end up lucky last night then. Sucks he doesn’t quite remember. Only fuzzy images come to mind. Fuzzy images that won’t sharpen until after a shower and some coffee.

 

Stiles slowly wriggles off the bed. He hisses when standing, a nasty headache pounding, cruelly reminding him of his lack of preserving his limits when drinking. Then he frowns when he realises he’s wearing boxers and a shirt (that aren’t his), but gets over it quickly while trying to find his pants. He doesn’t find it anywhere and he briefly imagines the worst walk of shame ever, already starting to feel embarrassed. He does find his phone on the nightstand, unlocks it, and scrolls through missed texts. They’re mostly Derek’s.

 

_> Stiles. Where are you._

 

_> It’s pack night. Where are you._

 

_> Stiles._

 

_> Get over here._

 

_> Pick up your damned phone._

 

Somewhere during the night Scott swooped in as well.

 

_> u r getting us worried man. where r u_

 

_> dereks goin apeshit. want me to take a pic?_

 

Stiles locks his phone without even opening the attached image. He doesn’t want to hear about Derek. Least of all does he want to think about Derek being supposedly worried about him along with the rest of the pack, because he’s long since learned to let go of unattainable crushes. Especially unattainable crushes that only like him because he smells good.

 

He sweeps his eyes around the room, seeing a worn sweatpants thrown haphazardly over a chair. Stiles shrugs it on, he’d rather wear a stolen pants (and boxers and shirt) than no stolen pants when he escapes this place. He’s almost at the door when a voice makes both him and his heart stop.

 

“Don’t leave.”

 

That sounds a bit too much like Derek, and Stiles wants to laugh at his own obsession and how ridiculous it has become. What happened to his attitude of ’forget Derek Hale, find a one night stand!’ of last night? Of course that didn’t work. No, nope. He’s actually hearing the dude’s voice while he’s trying to leave for his walk of shame. Of fucking course.

 

“Stiles.”

 

_That_ makes Stiles turn around, because no one says his name like that quite like Derek.

 

He sucks in a breath when he sees Derek in bed, bed hair, eyes sleepy, voice scratchy. 

 

_“Fuck,”_ he lets out. He doesn’t know what to think. This is Derek’s bedroom? They broke Stiles’s unspoken rule and hooked up despite the fact that it would wreck Stiles later on, _and_ he didn’t even remember? Fuck his life.

 

Derek can hear Stiles’s heartbeat pick up, he hears it starting to nervously jump around and his instincts are telling him to calm him down. To pull him back in his arms and soothe him.

 

“Calm down,” he tries.

 

“What are you—” Stiles can’t even manage to finish that sentence, too shell-shocked, really.

 

Derek sits up against he headboard, his eyes focused on Stiles. How pathetic would he be if he’d ask Stiles to crawl back into bed with him? “I picked you up last night, you were kind of out of it.”

 

“And I called you? Oh my God, kill me now,” Stiles groans, his hands rubbing over his face, pulling his skin down until his eyes start watering.

 

“No, I called _you_ ,” Derek tells him. “I wanted you here.”

 

“You wanted—” He raises a sceptical eyebrow.

 

“It was pack night.”

 

Instantly, the eyebrow lowers, a simultaneous mirthless chuckle joining. “Of course, yeah.”

 

Now Derek groans. He thinks about what Erica’s told him a million times before. Isaac, and Scott, too. Heck, even Boyd has. _Use your damned words, Hale._ “I can’t not have you around when it’s pack night, Stiles. You’re the centre of it.”

 

Stiles’s eyebrow raises again as if dancing some kind of ridiculous cha cha cha. 

 

“So I called you, multiple times. But you were out, kept talking about getting laid, and I just— _shit_. I just don’t like that, okay.”

 

“Intonation, Derek.” Stiles surprises himself with his reply, it’s obvious on his face by the way his lips part.

 

“I don’t like it when you go out, _okay?_ ” Derek says, stressing the last word in complete exaggeration, which makes Stiles smile, if only faintly.

 

Derek likes Stiles’s smile. It gives him the strength to keep going.

 

“When I got there, you were not alone. You were… You were with someone, kissing, and I didn’t like that either.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles is still smiling, his body unconsciously moving towards the bed. “And why is that?”

 

“You’re not,” Derek huffs a breath, steeling himself. “You shouldn’t kiss anyone else, Stiles.”

 

“Huh,” he says, one knee on the bed, his hands already pressing in the blankets. “Then who should I kiss, Derek?”

 

Not much words are traded then. No more teasing, no more playing. Just tongues exploring, both mouth and skin alike. Derek licks patterns on Stiles’s neck, which elicit the most obscene sounds Derek has ever heard. One hand pulls on the boy’s hair in a desperate attempt to get him closer, to get more. The other hand travels lower, over his neck, his back, until they find the bottom of his boxers and dip underneath the fabric so he can cup the bare skin of his ass. 

 

Stiles’s breath hitches at that, he pulls back and looks Derek in the eyes, making sure their gaze is locked before he flashes a wicked grin that Derek’s come to associate with Stiles flirting. Then he pushes back into Derek’s hand with a roll of his hips. Stiles leans in so he can lick a long wet strip up Derek’s neck, all the way up to his ear. His words breathy and hot. “Guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.”

 

Derek squeezes his hands, an action that brings Stiles even closer. Close enough to kiss again and roll them over. Close enough for their fabric covered cocks to meet. Derek wants to kiss Stiles until the world ends, and even then he won’t want to stop.

 

But apparently Stiles feels like talking, which isn’t shocking at all. What he says, however, is.

 

“I must smell really good to alphas, huh? To even get the great Derek Hale to fold and lower his standards enough to get over the fact that it’s _me_. The only thing I _am_ surprised of is the fact that you’re not closing your eyes and imagining a different face.”

 

Stiles then leans in again, ready to resume kissing, but Derek can’t. Not after hearing those words. 

 

“What?”

 

“It’s okay,” Stiles assures, settling for kissing whatever patch of skin he can reach, which is conveniently Derek’s shoulder.

 

“Um, no,” Derek says, pushing himself up and away from Stiles. “No.”

 

Stiles lets out an annoyed huff, but it’s more to cover a sudden wave of embarrassment, which Derek doesn’t understand, and then he starts to try and crawl from underneath the older man.

 

But Derek stops him. He needs a moment. They probably both do.

 

“Derek, let me go.” His voice sounds strangely fragile, and Derek can’t help but lean in again.

 

“You’re misunderstanding,” he says, softly, as if trying to soothe.

 

“I don’t think I am, man.”

 

“Stiles.” Derek reaches for Stiles’s wrists so he can pin him down on the mattress, then urges him to lock eyes with him. “Shut up and listen.”

 

It takes a moment of aggressive eye contact for Stiles to give in and nod reluctantly.

 

Derek huffs. “You smell amazing, you know that,” he says, waits for Stiles to nod again before continuing. “But that’s not the reason I don’t like it when you go out.”

 

He waits again, willing Stiles to understand. 

 

When no reply comes, Derek tries a different tactic. He leans down, and kisses Stiles’s nose. “I don’t like it when you go out, because I can’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else but me, and my pack.” 

 

Derek ghosts his lips over Stiles’s skin, tracing an invisible path towards his left cheekbone. After another gentle kiss, he says, “I hate it when you go around kissing people, because I want you to be happy but I wish you wouldn’t look for your happiness with someone else.”

 

He can hear the boy’s heartbeat pick up, hammering against his chest as Derek gets closer to his lips. “I loathe how you think I’m here with you right now just because of how you smell, because Stiles, what I feel for you goes far beyond primal instinct.”

 

He waits again, giving Stiles the time to decide what he wants.

 

There are no words to describe how his heart explodes when Stiles smiles, nods, and tilts his head to bridge the final distance. 

 

What happens next is downright amazing.

 

They deepen the kiss, hands tangling in hair, bodies moving languidly together in a slow rhythm. They touch each other like they have all the time in the world, exploring as if the other hides every secret of the universe.

 

Derek maps Stiles’s skin with his tongue, tracing over his moles as if when connecting them he’s making art. 

 

Every kiss they share feels like prayer, and Lord is he ready to dedicate his life to this religion.

 

 


End file.
